


Little Drop of Good

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: The Boys [3]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Crash & Burn, Don't copy to another site, F/F, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, protective queen maeve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: The morning after Maeve drunkenly visited Elena.





	Little Drop of Good

Maeve open her eyes slowly, grimacing at the sour taste in her mouth and the discomfort of her bodice digging into her skin. She didn’t need to think very hard to know alcohol was the culprit for her dismal state and the memory of why, was quick to follow. Maeve turned her head into her pillow, willing the stinging in her eyes to stop, the voices in her head, pleading.

At least there weren’t any nightmares this time. No child bloated and blue from the water, no screams for help, no red eyes and wicked grin gleaming at her through the clouds. Small mercies, she decided. Maybe she should indulge more often, take a lesson from Noir.

With a groan Maeve sat up. Her metabolism had always allowed her to escape the worst part of drinking; the hangovers. She wouldn’t have to hide a headache or sensitivity from the production crew or ward off any troubling questions. Thankfully. Taking a deep breath Maeve’s nose curled.

She had vomited on the floor. Naturally. Memory wasn’t one of the perks of her abilities. Having someone else discreetly clean it up on the other hand…that was a perk of being the seven. Maeve stood, avoiding the mess and made a beeline for her private bathroom, already stripping the pieces of her costume and breathing easier with each restrictive bit she let fall to the floor.

A shower. That would solve all her problems.

There was a shoot today. No time to wallow in the reality that was the hell she lived.

Maeve’s eyes swept across the mirror briefly, only to make her pause. She might not have noticed it if it weren’t for her superb eyesight, might have brushed it off as a brief encounter, but her mind had not intention of letting her forget this. She stared at herself in the mirror, one brief memory slipping to the forefront, teasing her.

Lips, plush and oh so soft against her own. Smell marred by paint but still so damn distinctive that it brought tears back to her eyes. A quiet, voice, irritated, pleading filling her ears and making her heart skip a beat with remembered love.

Maeve felt her legs go weak and she was suddenly gripping the edges of the countertop, knuckles white as it creaked and cracked. She stared into the sink, a sob working its way up her throat at words drunkenly spoken and kisses stolen.

Elena.

“Fuck,” the word came out broken, throat rasping on the exclamation as one more thing settled firmly onto her shoulders.

It was cowardly what she did. Selfish. Cruel. Unforgivable. That was what she was now, and she swore to herself she’d never drag Elena down with her, into this world of glittering nightmares. One fucking bottle of alcohol had gone and ruined that because she was too god damn pathetic to control herself, to face up to what she had done.

_ Murderer. _

Her jaw clenched, throat spasming around the need to vomit again as nausea swept through her. Maeve’s eyes caught on the little crown they insisted she wear because it made her look more royal, more honorable, more heroic.

What a fucking joke.

Maeve took a steadying breath. Met her reflection once more. Tried not to see all the people she had failed. She had a job to do. Smile, look pretty, stand dramatically, promise that everything would be alright and when the time was right, steal another life.

Sometimes she wished she was more like Homelander.

He seemed to be the happiest among them, the most at ease with the destruction and violence and death. Of course, she knew how damaged he was on the inside, how those treacherous memories were the very reason he could just let things go. She envied him just a little bit.

Maeve straightened up and marched into the shower, twisting the heat until it was just shy of scalding. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw, yanked fingers through her hair and ignored the tears, pressed harder than she should with the shaving blade. All of which were designed to be little reminders that this was the present and the past…well the past was better off ignored if not forgotten.

By the time she stepped back into the steam covered bathroom, wrapping a towel around reddened skin, she almost felt normal, the weight bearing down on her no different to the trucks and punches she took on the daily, a nuisance to be endured.

The newfound confidence lasted all of ten minutes.

Her cellphone sat on the floor, dangerously close to the puddle of sick, buzzing away like an angry fly. Instinctively she assumed it was the production crew, her handler demanding to know where she was, or even Homelander playing check up.

It was none of those.

Even without the name hovering above the contact, Maeve knew exactly whose number lit up her screen. Elena never could leave well-enough alone, was always trying to help people and fix them and act like with a few spoken words, everything could be alright.

Maeve needed to keep her far away from all this.

Yet.

Her finger hovered over the answer button, gnawing on her lip anxiously as her stomach rolled once more. Maeve remembered when Elena’s name used to bring a smile to her lips and a skip to her heart. Remembered late night conversations and playful smacks as they discussed a future, so certain. Remembered fighting and forgiving and loving and crying and wanting and hating and-

She took a deep breath and declined the call.

There would be no more mistakes. Maeve hadn’t made it this far by being weak, hadn’t survived this long without knowing when to run away and when to hide and when to stay. She had promised Elena a long time ago, that she would never let anything happen to her and that was a promise she intended to keep. A broken heart was nothing compared to what Homelander could do to her if he thought she was a risk, if he thought Maeve went to her in moments of weakness and spilled all their dirty little secrets.

She might not be a superhero, but she could do this.


End file.
